


Sutures and Shotguns

by LauraEMoriarty



Series: His Glowing Hands [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Different perspective on the Reaper War, F/M, Falling In Love, Nellie hates the war, Rose Shepard's sister, Set during the Reaper War, The Reaper War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 01:25:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8601730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraEMoriarty/pseuds/LauraEMoriarty
Summary: Her hands were wet with the dying turian’s blood—but they’d gone through their last box of gloves an hour ago and they had to wait for more.





	1. Chapter One: Welcome to War Medicine, Little Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Potionsmaster for this-- it's all her fault.
> 
> Not really, cause Nell had been bashing my brain about wanting this written.

 

“C’mon. Stay with me,” Nellie muttered under her breath, glancing down at the ashen face of the latest casualty they’d triaged to her. She ran her omnitool over him, but knew it was too late. Another death. Too many were dying before they even got triaged, some reaching the temporary civilian housing, only to die for want of medigel. She cursed the inefficiency of the medical supplies they had—with the injured and dying pouring in, Nellie knew they’d run out. She could strangle her bloody sister some days, sending all these people into— _no, stop that. Rose never asked to be the leader of this fucking war._

 

“Shipment from the _Normandy_. Medical supplies sent directly to Dr Nevell?” Nellie’s head snapped up, at the mention of both the _Normandy_ and medical supplies. The sight that greeted her was a beefcake of a marine, with tattoos that crisscrossed his neck, a broken nose, and a vast expanse of muscle. Her hands were wet with the dying turian’s blood—but they’d gone through their last box of gloves an hour ago and they had to wait for more. Unless this shipment from Rose included gloves, she’d have to just scrub her hands with carbolic soap, until the carbolic ran out, and then they’d be further up shit creek than they already were.

 

“That’s me.” Nellie wiped her hands on her apron and hurried forwards.  No time to wash them. She’d just have to hope the turian hadn’t been carrying a new strain of a virulent infection that’d decimated half the turians. If them being turned into marauders by the reapers wasn’t bad enough. No, they’d get to the Citadel, half dead and many maimed beyond recognition, and all Nellie could do for the pain, to ease their deaths, was to ask them about their homes. She’d found the best and most peaceful way for a dying patient to go was by thinking about their home.

 

“Shit, doc. I didn’t realise it was so bad down here. Lola said it was bad, but not _this_ bad.” Then Nellie recognised him. Nobody but James Vega would be game enough to call Rose _Lola_. Her sister. Rose fucking Shepard. Sometimes, Nellie wanted to strangle her sister out of sheer frustration. It wouldn’t be Rose’s fault, not entirely. Three years ago, Rose had warned the Council, and she had been right all along. Now they had casualties pouring in, from every system in the known galaxy.

 

“Vega, I’m running low on essentials. Please tell me you have gloves and carbolic soap in those crates?” Nellie fought to keep the despair and desperation out of her voice. If neither things were there, there’d be more deaths by the hour, and the death count would be in the hundreds of thousands by the end of the week. She suppressed an involuntary shudder.

 

“There should be,” Vega said, scratching the back of his neck, where she knew his new tattoo was healing. “She didn’t tell me—it comes from the _Normandy’s_ own inventory.”

 

Nellie sighed, taking the datapad Lt. Vega handed her.  She scrawled her ID and initialled the space that was required. She pulled up the cargo manifest, and her eyebrows rose as she saw _everything_ on the list had been short by five units. Still, it was better than nothing. Five minutes ago, she’d had none of these things.

 

”It’s better than what I had five minutes ago when a turian died. No soap, no gloves. High chance of infection,” Nellie muttered, distractedly. She realised she sounded like a salarian, and sighed. “Sorry. Every bit helps.”

 

“Lola did say to apologise to you. Is there any way I can be useful?” James asked, and Nellie read the genuine offer in his voice.

 

“Let’s get the supplies into the field hospital,” Nellie said immediately. It was far more important than gawking at the beauty of the man who had come off the _Normandy_ with her desperately-needed supplies. Honestly, she could’ve kissed him then and there, just out of sheer gratitude.

 

James hefted the crate onto his shoulder as if it were no heavier than a case of beer. Nellie led the way through the labyrinth, nodding greetings to various members of C-Sec hurrying past, no time to really talk. Stepping away had been a bit of a mistake, as more maimed people had joined the triage queue. Nellie took a deep breath, and tried not to sigh as they unloaded the supply crate.

 

“Dr Nevell? We have a GSW and three more DOA’s.” A first year doctor in combat fatigues spoke, and Nellie sighed.

 

“I’ll need help with the GSW, we don’t have much anaesthetic left, but unpack the crate and I’ll go deal with it,” Nellie said, thinking fast. She would give her right arm for some rum or whisky—the surgeon’s go-to for centuries. If only for a disinfectant, if not an anaesthetic—enough of it and the patient would be so far gone as to not mind her slicing into them.

 

“Sure.” The look the young doctor shot her was full of gratitude.

 _Welcome to war medicine, little doctor,_ Nellie thought darkly. She dismissed the thought, and turned to James.

 

“I’ll need help. The GSW patients are usually as bad as the burns patients,” Nellie spoke in a businesslike manner, taking a package of soap and surgical scrub out of the top of the crate. She grabbed two pairs of gloves, tossing one of the pairs across to James.

 

“Sure. What do you need me to do?” James asked, pulling on the gloves.

 

“Hold them still long enough for me to take some images with my omnitool.” Again, the businesslike tone in her voice. If she didn’t keep it like that, she was sure she’d cry from the sheer despair of war. How she hated the Reapers for coming—how she wished Rose’s warnings three years earlier had been heeded. If they had been, they’d be prepared for the sheer number of casualties and wounded.

 

Reaching the GSW patient, Nellie took in the pallor of her patient’s skin, the hollow, sunken eyes. She’d die soon, but Nellie, bound by her Hippocratic Oath could not just let her die. She knew her patients needed her, knew the emotional toll of the war was starting to grind her down. Death would be a mercy for this human soldier. She knew, too, that the hospitals were overflowing, and the worst cases were sent down here. The hopeless cases. She muttered something under her breath, entreating St Jude—patron saint of hopeless cases—to give her strength.

 

“I’m Doc Nevell, I’ll be looking after you,” she added, almost as an afterthought. Don’t get attached, don’t ask their name when they’ll just die. Nellie took a scan of the area, and her brows furrowed in consternation. Not only was the bone completely shattered, the soft tissue and the epidermis were becoming necrotic. Medigel alone wouldn’t fix it, nothing could.

 

“I’m Treasa,” the dying woman said. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“James here will be holding your arm steady while I work.” Nellie said, soothingly.

 

Treasa nodded. “I don’t want to die.”

 

“You won’t,” Nellie lied, wishing it was true. There was a slim hope of saving her—medigel only did so much, the rest was up to the individual’s body.

 

“Grab her arm and hold steady,” Nellie directed, and James obeyed her without question.

 

Nellie extracted surgical tweezers, the needle nose excellent for digging out tiny bits of shrapnel. She tore the sterile package open, and started the painstaking process of digging shrapnel out of Treasa’s arm. When she had finished, Nellie smeared medigel over the wound, and prayed that it would save the woman.

 

“If it aches or starts going numb, smear medigel over it every three hours,” Nellie instructed. Treasa stood up, and nodded.

 

“Thought I’d die on Benning. Thanks.” Treasa said, as she walked away.

 

Nellie shot James a grateful smile. She put her success down to the fact that she’d had help in the form of James’s strong, but gentle, presence. Or not. But having someone there to help hold down her patient had made all the difference.

 

“Thanks James,” Nellie said, as she scrubbed all traces of blood and shrapnel from her hands with carbolic soap.  “Tell Rose I send thanks, and that if she can get supplies in again, I’d be grateful.”

 

Nellie passed the soap to James, and stood back to let him wash his hands.

 

“I make no promises on supplies, but I’ve got the day free. Where can I be useful?” James smiled at Nellie.

 

“Did Rosie give you shore leave while here?” Nellie replied. “If she has, I could do with the extra pair of hands.”

 

James nodded, drying his hands thoroughly. “Yeah, she has—she’s given us all shore leave. I’m happy to help, and I spend all my shore leave here anyway. Playing poker.” He flashed Nellie a smile.

“Does Rose know how many creds you lose?” Nellie teased. “Careful, LT. You might look like a jarhead, but I suspect there’s more to you than meets the eye. But, seriously—if you’ve got the time, I’d love an extra pair of hands.”

 

“Sure.” James agreed readily.

 

All day, James and Nellie worked together, giving pain relief where possible, dispensing dose after dose of medigel, and holding the hands of the dying they couldn’t save. Hard and heartbreaking though the work was, Nellie soldiered on, pushing aside the horrors of war. If she didn’t, she’d never go back to it. When the night cycle began, Nellie looked up at the stars blinking into existence, and sighed.  Another day of more losses than wins. She wondered when the war would end, or if it ever would. She hung up her stethoscope, put her sterile packs in her locker, and rummaged around for clean civilian clothing. Finding a tank top and a clean pair of jeans, she ducked into the crate that all the doctors used as a change room and staff meeting place.

 

“Do you want to get a drink?” Nellie asked, as she emerged from the crate, dressed in civilian clothing. “I’ll buy. As thanks for your help.”

 

“Sounds good,” James agreed readily. “Where to?”

 

Nellie smiled. “My favourite watering hole is currently playing host to a very hostile asari. So, my next favourite place is just around the corner. Not as good, but we can’t always have what we most want.” She lead him to the elevator, hitting the call button as she did so, then stepped back and waited.

 

“You mean Aria T’Loak?” James asked, as they got onto the elevator. “Lola says she’s not as bad as you think she is—if you follow her one rule.”

 

“Still don’t like her,” Nellie retorted. “I’m not gonna risk her noticing me and thinking she can use me in order to get to Rose through me.” She bit back a laugh. She sounded like her sister—paranoia had been Rose’s forte for years.

 

“You sound like her now,” James observed wryly.

 

“I know. She _is_ my sister. I’ve known her all my life—I’ve lived Rose’s paranoia since Akuze.” Nellie said, and thought how different things would’ve been if Rose had never been sent there.

 

The elevator arrived, and the two of them got in. They rode up three floors, then took a skycar to the Silversun Strip. Nellie flashed her Alliance-issued ID card as they entered the Silver Coast Casino. James did the same, and they submitted to the thorough anti-cheating search. She walked up the stairs to the bar, James following.

 

“You know, I wasn’t expecting _this_ to be your second favourite watering hole—can’t imagine Lola here.” James observed, smiling. “Not that I’m comparing you two,” he added hastily, coughing to cover what Nellie knew was embarrassment.

 

“I’m used to it. Nobody knows her as I do—they only see the hero. I remember us being little girls on Arcturus stuffing Councillor Udina’s shoes with ham and mustard.”

 

James laughed. “I’d love to have seen that sonofabitch’s face when he put his shoes back on.” Nellie met his eyes as they both laughed.

 

“It was pretty unforgettable. But, he did start checking his shoes from then on.” Nellie said, a gleam in her eye as she remembered it. She leaned back against the bar, elbow resting lightly on it as they waited for service. “Oh, the stories I can tell about her…”

 

“Oh I can imagine,” James said, an easy smile giving him a roguish air that Nellie found incredibly attractive. “She’d rather be on the ground, not dealing with diplomats.”

 

“She’s a soldier, but she sees so little of the real impact of the war. I’m up to my elbows in death and bloodshed all day, dealing with the casualties. But Rose? She goes and negotiates alliances, brokers peace between turians and krogan—she doesn’t see the major death and destruction that’s left behind in her wake.”

 

“She knows. Believe me, she hates the decisions she’s forced to make,” James said. “You _do_ remember how I met her, right?”

 

“After she destroyed the Alpha Relay,” Nellie sighed, wearily. She wasn’t being fair to James, she realised. “I forgot, James. I’m sorry. This war does funny things to my head.”

 

“I understand. You’re dealing with the aftermath, seeing the horrors first-hand. It’s incredibly tough, I bet.” James said, and reached his hand out to touch Nellie’s, squeezing it gently.

 

Nellie nodded. “I need a break from it all. I don’t know how much longer I can keep going, honestly.”

 

“Tonight, I’m going to make you forget about the war—at least for a few hours.” James smiled, and offered her his arm. She put her hand in the crook of his elbow, and he covered her hand with his.

 

“I’d love that,” Nellie said. “Anything to get my mind off it would be fabulous. And if that includes an extremely hot marine, that’d be great.”

 

“Let’s get outta here. I reckon we won’t get served anytime soon,” James said. “Regardless of the beauty on my arm.”

 

“Charmer,” Nellie didn’t hide the smile. “You say the nicest things, you know.”

 

She glanced at the incredibly busy bar, and sighed. It’d be far easier to go home, than to get a drink and dinner here tonight. Francis had given her the apartment he hardly used—her father slept more often than not in the theatre’s dressing room. At home, she wouldn’t have the day’s events to think about, wondering if the people that danced on the dancefloor in the bar would be on her triage list tomorrow.

 

“Let’s go back to mine. It’s not too far from here.” Nellie turned to James, and stood on her tiptoes to speak into his ear. The acoustics in the casino truly were dreadful, and she hated drinking here, really.

 

“Sounds good,” James said.

 

Nellie took his hand, and together they walked out of the Silversun Casino, down towards the Tiberius Complex. She waved to the asari concierge, and nodded at the others who smiled and recognised her. Keying in the access number, she unlocked the door, and smiled.

 

“It’s not fancy, but it’s home for now,” she said. Her eyes swept the room, taking in the absolutely pristine apartment. Nellie clapped her hands once, and the fire turned itself on in the grate, the light from the flames dancing on the opposite white wall, orange and reds and yellows. She activated her omnitool, and waved it in the air, lights coming on.  She motioned to James to follow her into the kitchen, where she bent down and got a bottle of white wine and two glasses.

 

“Wow. How’d you afford such a place?” James sounded awed, and Nellie giggled.

 

“I didn’t. I just have the use of it whenever I’m working. It’s Francis’s house.” Nellie said, as she fished around in the drawer for a corkscrew. She glanced once at the label, just to make sure she wasn’t drinking the special occasion white that Francis had asked her not to touch. She wasn’t, thankfully. Uncorking the wine, she poured two glasses, and nudged one over to James.

 

“Francis?” James asked, consternation in his voice. “Who’s  Francis? Don’t tell me you’re married.”

 

“Francis Kitt is mine and Rose’s father,” Nellie smiled. “Not many people know that. It’s not even in our personnel files.”

 

“Wait, Francis Kitt? Elcor _Hamlet_ Francis Kitt?” James said, and then his eyes fell on the Elcor Mating Totem. “No way!”

 

“Yes way.” Nellie said, giggling. “The one and the same.”

 

“That explains a lot then,” James smiled. “This apartment is amazing. Wow.”

 

Nellie waved her omnitool again and suddenly the apartment filled with music. “So, what’s it like serving with Rose?” She sipped her wine. “I’ve only served with her once, and never again. Poor Kaidan, I think he’s finally cured of the ulcer Rose gave him with her driving. And having learned to drive with her, I don’t blame him.”

 

James smiled. “In a word? Terrifying. Especially her driving. I’ve heard the stories. Apparently she blew up a mako.”

 

Nellie threw her head back and laughed. “It’s more like ten makos she blew up. She started early, actually. As a gunny, she destroyed three of them before she even got deployed to Akuze. The Skyllian Verge has never forgotten the massive fire.”

 

“What happened?” James asked, intrigued. “Or should Lola tell me the story?”

_It would be better coming from her_ , Nellie thought. “She tells it better than I do.” She flashed James a smile. “I doubt you want to hear all these stories about your CO from her sister—I’m kinda biased.”

 

“Not at all,” James said, an easy laugh on his lips.

 

“Hey James? Thanks for your help today.” Nellie said, changing the subject. “I’ve been observing your behaviour for weeks now. You’re incredibly kind, not to mention, kinda _hot_.”

 

“You’ve been watching me? I’m not sure whether that’s like stalker behaviour or not,” James returned. “Like what you see?”

 

Nellie nodded. “Yes, I do,” she said, and smiled at the answering look in his eyes. “Very much so.”

 

The music changed, and Nellie smiled, extending her hand. “Care to dance, Lieutenant?”

 

“Shouldn’t that be me asking you?” James smiled back at her. “Of course I’ll dance.”

 

They moved in time to the music, Nellie forgetting her troubles as she danced with James. He felt real, solid and immovable, and just what she needed right now. Someone and some distraction from the real, awful problems that plagued her dreams. If she wasn’t a surgeon, Nellie sometimes thought being a ballroom dancer would be her career. Not that she seriously contemplated it—she loved her job.

 

James had some serious dancing skills.

 

Nellie couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced with someone like him. Probably before the war. With a lightness of foot that contradicted all the solid muscle that James had, they moved in the living room, avoiding the priceless artefacts scattered throughout. She stood on her tiptoes, and looped her arms around James’s neck.

 

“You are an excellent dancer, Lieutenant. Shall we see what else you’re excellent at?” Nellie’s mouth was close to James’s ear, lips grazing against his ear. “What other _talents_ you have.”

 

James’s response was to turn his head and kiss her. The jolt of desire that came from their lips meeting sent Nellie into overdrive. She laced her fingers at the back of his head, pulling him closer. Tongues danced together,  teasing. They moved slowly, Nellie tugging James’s shirt up, her hands exploring the toned muscles, feeling scar tissue. James caught her hand, and held it on a particular scar.

 

“That’s the one I got on Fehl Prime,” he said, as he broke the kiss briefly. He pulled his t-shirt off, and Nellie traced lines on his chest with a fingertip, before her palm touched his sternum and the beat of his heart vibrated against her hand. He tugged the hem of her tank top up, his hand reaching to caress her bare skin, an electric current thrumming through her at his touch as her biotics flared briefly to life. James placed his hand on her breast, feeling the fullness of them as Nellie’s own hands reached for his belt, unbuckling it. James reached a hand around to unclasp her bra, and she undid the top button of his fly.

 

She put her hand on his chest, and pushed up against him. “Shall we take this to the bedroom? The couch isn't exactly the most comfortable place,” she said, her voice breathy as she led the way up the stairs, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind them. Nellie smiled. She pushed open the door, one hand in James’s as she led them to her bed.

 

As each new bit of skin was exposed, it only heightened their mutual arousal. Kissing, and falling backwards onto the soft bed, Nellie landed on top of James, feeling the iron hardness of him as she wriggled deliberately on his lap. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her jeans, tugging at the denim as Nellie fumbled with the button and the zip of her jeans. Nellie kicked at them, as James helped tug them down her legs, kissing along her inner thighs, his mouth grazing the insubstantial piece of lace that passed for her panties. Nellie’s hands slid against his cock, feeling the velvety smooth skin and eliciting a groan from James. She felt one of his fingers tease her clit, and she writhed in pleasure as he moved his hands and fingers up her body, kissing his way up to her lips.

 

Her hand continued her ministrations, as she felt how hard he was between her legs. He hadn't even entered her, and already she felt herself reaching her climax, the delicious shiver beginning, her biotics flaring as she rolled her head back against the headboard. Squirming against James’s hand, Nellie erupted against him, and her pleasure in doing so was voiced in a low moan. Slick and wet, she felt ready for him, needed him.

 

He placed the tip of his rock-hard erection at the junction between her thighs, and once again, Nellie lost control of her biotics, a glowing blue halo illuminating the wall behind them. They moved as one in a primal dance of tongues and hips jutting up as James thrust into her. She leaned her head back, one hand gripping the headboard, as the building waves of pleasure reached their crescendo, and they saw stars, clinging together in their ecstasy as they came.

 

Later, they lay basking in the afterglow, touching and kissing, legs entwined. James’s solidness was something Nellie knew she could rely on. If anything, this had been a very satisfying end to an otherwise stressful day. In his arms, she could forget about the war, the shortage of supplies, and the ever-rising death toll. For the moment, he was exactly what the doctor had ordered.


	2. Chapter Two: You can be a conscientious objector all you like, but you need to protect them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bullets ricocheted off walls, the rat-a-tat-tat of Cerberus automated turrets filled the air. Nellie struggled to breathe, the smoke a thick haze almost impossible to see through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Potionsmaster](http://archiveofourown.org/users/potionsmaster) for betaing this chapter. 
> 
> I hope you all like it. :D

 

Bullets ricocheted off walls, the rat-a-tat-tat of Cerberus automated turrets filled the air. Nellie struggled to breathe, the smoke a thick haze almost impossible to see through. She ducked low, and motioned to a small group of patients, her gun at the ready. If she was to die here, at least these people would get their chance to live. The patients she guarded were almost ready to be discharged. Cerberus, _fucking_ Cerberus, had gone mad. Never, in all the years Nellie had heard of Cerberus, had they been this bold and power-hungry. Why grasp for power now? The answer came almost instantly: _because the galaxy is falling around us and we’re losing the war_.

 

The wins on Palaven were all well and good. So was curing the Genophage. Those were good victories, _important_ victories, even. It didn’t lessen the casualties that still poured in by the thousands. She couldn’t think about it now—she had more important things to worry about than the fighting on Palaven, like—for example—keeping herself and her patients alive. Nellie suppressed a shudder as she spotted an Atlas, knowing she couldn’t take it down, not without exposing those she had sworn she’d protect. _Damn, and damn my Hippocratic Oath._

 

She felt the surge of her biotics on her skin, the familiar tingle as a barrier erupted around her patients. Nellie could try and sustain that barrier for as long as it took for salvation to arrive, but that salvation could be hours, even days away. They didn’t have that long. The sound of gunfire drew her attention, and she checked her thermal clips. Her M4-Shuriken V, fully loaded, would have to do. She sighed, and stood up, her finger on the gun’s trigger. She shot a centurion, and ducked back down into cover and pushed her barrier out once more, encircling the vulnerable, trying to keep them safe. Knowing there were few routes out of where they were pinned down, Nellie brought up the grid on her omnitool. The thought that ran through her brain made panic a distant second.

 

_Someone’s helped Cerberus_ , she thought, and it did not comfort her. She could think of only one diplomat on the Citadel both foolish and ambitious enough to grab power if he could.

 

Udina.

 

The thought horrified Nellie as much as it confirmed her long-held and secret dislike of the man. Nellie sent a distress message out through the extranet, hoping Rose could get there and swoop in like she always did to save the day.

 

 

_Now we wait, and kill any Cerberus bastards you see_ , she thought, the grim ghost of a smile playing on her lips. Nellie had never been particularly prone to violent thoughts, but war made all previous considerations a distant thing. The terrible staccato of turrets and Atlas mechs through the haze of smoke grenades and the screams of the dying made Nellie more determined than ever to get through to someone— _anyone_ —in the Alliance. She heard the station-wide announcement, that resisting Cerberus troops was futile, and tightened her grip around the base of her gun. She hated the thought of killing, but she’d have no other choice if it came to it. She only hoped she could make the right decision. She strafed quickly around the corner, finding nobody.

 

“I’m going to have to leave you here,” she told the man with the least injuries, as she rolled up the leg of her pants to press a small pistol into his hands. “Stay hidden, stay safe. The Alliance will come and save you.”

 

“I can’t take this,” the man said, offering the pistol back to her. “I’m a pacifist.”

 

Nellie suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “I can’t stay here and protect you; I have to go. You can be a conscientious objector all you like, but you need to protect them.”

 

“I….” the man quailed under Nellie’s intense stare. “Well, all right. I’ll look after them. Go on.”

 

“That’s what I thought,” Nellie muttered under her breath.

 

She had to move, and move quickly. Taking off at a soundless run, she made her way through C-Sec offices, sweeping for Cerberus troops and injured C-Sec officers.  Doing what she could for those who had been caught in the crossfire, Nellie looked for Bailey. He should’ve been there, should’ve—no, she wouldn’t blame him for this travesty. Outmanoeuvred by Cerberus, Bailey wouldn’t have stood a chance.

 

Nellie heard a faint groan coming from the one room she’d not looked in yet.  It could’ve been a death groan, or it could’ve been something else. She readied her pistol, and brought it out in front of her, hoping she wouldn’t be too late. Strafing into the room, Nellie spotted Armando Bailey lying on his side, blood pooling.

 

_Fuck._

“That you, Doc?” he asked her, and she heard the strength it took him to say those words.

 

Nellie nodded. “Let’s get you patched up and to somewhere safer,” she said, and ran her omnitool over his body. There were no signs of organ damage, just a deep gash that bled and bled, like someone had inexpertly tried to run him through with an ordinary combat blade. Medigel would only do so much for a wound like Bailey’s.

 

“It’s only a flesh wound,” Bailey tried to wave her away, but Nellie already had the medigel out and applied it.

 

“Good use of _Monty Python_ ,” Nellie quipped. “But it doesn’t lessen the need for medigel.”

 

Moving swiftly, having stabilised Bailey, Nellie sent another distress message to the _Normandy_ , hoping that the cavalry would arrive sooner rather than later. This fucking coup couldn’t end soon enough. It had to end—in no possible universe could Cerberus overrun the station. Madness to think they could even try. Nellie entered Executor Pallin’s office suite, her gun at the ready. The executor lay in a puddle of blood, and his breathing sounded like the terrible death rattle she had heard so many times over the course of the past few months. He couldn’t be saved. She could, however, ease his passing.

 

“Executor,” Nellie knelt down beside the dying turian. She ran her omnitool over him, seeing the myriad bullets that had penetrated through his carapace. Her instincts were right: the Executor would die, but she would stay with him until the end. “I’m Dr Nellie Nevell. I’ll stay with you.”

 

“Thank you,” the raspy voice sounded so very close to those last moments. Nellie gripped his talons gently, wishing she had come sooner.

 

“Tell me about Palaven, about home in the summer,” she said, and watched as he found the peace in thinking of his home.

 

“It’s all silver stone and wide open expanses, it’s beautiful…” his voice trailed off into a final silence.

 

Nellie watched as his body slowly relinquished its spark. She held his talons until the end, and when he was gone, she gently closed his glassy eyes, and commended his soul to the turian spirits for their safekeeping. Then she stood, brushing tears from her own eyes, and left a message for the turian hierarchy.

 

There were moments like these that made Nellie appreciate how brief life could be. In the temporary civilian housing where she did most of her work, she saw day in and day out the courage of those who had lost everything. Now it was her turn to be courageous in the face of danger and death. Leaving the executor’s office, Nellie headed for another staircase, two steps up at a time. She could hear gunfire, and knew it would be Cerberus attacking civilians.

 

_No. They won’t get far_ , she thought grimly, strafing quickly around the corner and aiming her pistol. She fired a clean shot into the back of a Cerberus trooper, and watched as he fell, blood spurting from his head, down the back of his armour. It bothered her, the taking of life, but there truly had been no alternative. When the enemy happened to be the same species as herself, Nellie wondered how deep humanity had sunk into the festering sore of this war.

 

“Doc, I have news for you.” Bailey’s voice in her earpiece startled her as she ran between the automated turrets, her biotic shields taking a battering as she did so.

 

“Go ahead. I’m listening.” Nellie replied, and got to cover, pistol still in her hands.

 

“Thane Krios has been badly wounded trying to stop a Cerberus assassin. He’s in the Salarian Councillor’s office.” Bailey’s voice crackled in her ear, but she heard him well enough. “And your sister has arrived with the cavalry.”

 

“On my way to Thane now.” She felt relief at the knowledge that Rose had arrived, but at the same  time, it changed nothing.

_Thane Krios, the dying drell—he won’t make it._ Nellie’s thoughts were for him, but she knew too, the unlikelihood that he would survive. Late stage Kepral’s Syndrome, plus whatever wounds had been inflicted on him, left him with almost unwinnable odds. As she moved towards where Thane lay dying, Nellie ran through a mental checklist, crossing off various things that she couldn’t do.

 

Coming into the office, she saw him, took in the pallor of his skin. She knew Thane would not live, no matter the amount of blood donated, nor would he pull through surgery. The best thing Nellie could do for him was to make him comfortable, to ensure his passing was as painless as it could be. Huerta Memorial would be the place to take him, assuming Cerberus hadn’t conquered the hospital yet. Surely hospitals were sacrosanct. Well, she’d find out soon enough.

 

Nellie sent a quick medivac message to a team of doctors she knew in Huerta, praying to Saint Jude that they’d arrive soon. She wasn’t hopeful. She stabilised Thane as best she could, but knew it could be the end for him.  The scans she ran showed massive, systematic organ failure, coupled with the Kepral’s, and with the wounds he had sustained, his odds were poor.

 

The death rattle in his wheezy breathing did not bode well. She knew he would be dead within the hour, and surgery would be risky—given his condition. A terminal case of Kepral’s Syndrome, coupled with organ damage, a deep stab wound, and very little drell blood on the Citadel did not give him a good prognosis.

 

Twenty minutes passed before the shuttle arrived, with a team of doctors, and Nellie helped lift Thane up off the ground and onto the stretcher. She gripped his hand, and held it. The doctors found a vein, and they cited the IV line, a bag of synthetic drell blood pumping through him. For a moment, Nellie hoped they wouldn’t have to re-cannulate, but the vein blew, and they had to redo it.

 

“Thanks. We need a proper blood donor, though,” Nellie said, climbing into the back of the shuttle to stay with Thane. She held his hand on the ride, monitoring his vitals, making sure he’d be comfortable.

 

“My son…” Thane’s voice faded in and out, each breath costing him his strength. “My son should not see me like this.”

 

Nellie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “If I were your son, I would want to say my goodbyes,” she said. “I’ll be frank with you, Thane. Your prognosis is grim.”

 

“I know.” Those two words cost him strength to say, but Nellie understood what it meant. “Do not grieve for me, Doctor. I’ve made my peace with the inevitability of my death.”

“I think we may need his son,” Nellie said to one of the doctors. They had reached Huerta now, and Thane had been rushed into surgery.

 

Nellie watched from behind the glass as they operated, hating that she couldn’t be in the operating theatre with them. She itched to be in the theatre, to be doing _something_ other than watching and waiting. She kept checking her omnitool, in case she had to dash back to the field hospital she worked out of. It frustrated her, being powerless in this moment, where she could be doing something other than waiting. Deciding that there actually was something she could do, she contacted Bailey.

 

“Hey Bailey,” Nellie said, bringing up the display on her omnitool. “Thane’s son. Can you get a hold of him? There’s a shortage of drell blood on the Citadel, and we need him—if he’s a match.”

 

“Sure, doc. How’s Thane doing?” Bailey asked.

 

“Still in surgery. Not going too well. Lost a lot of blood, and I suspect organ failure,” Nellie replied. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine—your sister showed up and Kaidan shot Udina. We’re well rid of the slimy bastard,” Bailey summarised.

 

Nellie took a moment to absorb that bit of news. She had always thought, that if anyone would shoot Udina, it would’ve been Rose.

 

“Always thought it’d be Rose who killed him in the end,” Nellie muttered.

 

“Yeah, well. She didn’t.” Bailey said laconically. The call ended a few moments later, with the usual pleasantries and a promise to update him if anything changed.

 

Nellie glanced down at the surgery, noting they had started the last stages. She watched the salarian surgeon, admiring his technique, and she watched the young human intern holding the forceps as they tied off an artery. They finished that, and began the process of stitching Thane closed, and Nellie once again marvelled at the skill and dexterity of those who worked in the hospital. They were _magnificent_ surgeons, surgeons she’d be lucky to be half as good as one day.

 

“He’s out, but it’s not encouraging.” The head surgeon told Nellie as they wheeled Thane into the recovery suite. “At best, the surgery only prolonged his life a few days—it’s not good. Extensive sharp force trauma to the diaphragm, coupled with end-stage Kepral’s. You know the rest, Nevell.”

 

“Yeah, I do. It’s a bleak prognosis, and I’ve managed to put word out to Bailey that we need Thane’s son.” Nellie said. “

 

“I came as soon as Bailey contacted me.” Nellie heard the voice of a younger drell, and looked at him. She beckoned to him, and the door slid open to admit a younger version of Thane.

 

There had been too much death over the past few days. Too many dying without adequate care because her team and were overextended. She had done all she could, volunteered her time and talents in the refugee camps. Again and again, Nellie grieved for all those who died because they kept running out of supplies.

 

“I’m here to see Thane.”

 

Nellie glanced up at the sound of Rose’s voice, and saw the grief in her sister’s eyes. She went to Rose, and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered in Rose’s ear.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I’ll give you time to say goodbye. He’s fading fast.” Nellie excused herself for a moment. She left the room, giving Rose the time she needed.

 

Outside, she gulped down air, trying to calm herself. Why now? Why did _this_ death affect her so badly when she had seen so much of it already. Such a pointless waste of life, such a pointless, needless death. He would die a hero, and leave the galaxy a poorer place for it. Nellie knew just how much Thane had helped Rose in the months following her resurrection, with his guidance, and the guidance of the asari Justicar, Rose had come to terms with dying and being resurrected. Her heart broke for Rose’s loss.

 

“You ok, Doc?” James asked her, as he exited Thane’s room.

 

“No, not really,” Nellie said, sighing heavily.  “I held Executor Pallin’s hand as he died.”

 

“Want to talk?” James asked.

 

Nellie shook her head. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “It’s part of the job, you know?”

 

“Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it,” James said. He moved to put his arms around her, and she stepped willingly into his embrace.

 

Nellie rested her head against his chest, and felt his arms close around her. She felt safe, secure. Somehow, even though she could cope with the world, and the things she saw on a daily basis in the camps, James’s presence here and now was what she so desperately needed.

 

“Come home with me?” she asked him. “Francis won’t be there tonight—he’s sleeping in the actor’s dressing room again.”

 

“I’m gonna have to meet him at some point, you know,” James said, a smile playing at his lips.

 

“He’s married to his muse,” Nellie replied. “When he’s elbow-deep in witches and tragic heroes, it’s easier for Dad to stay there at night. Gives him more freedom to muse and wander around half-naked and talking to himself.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind,” James said.

 

Nellie suppressed a shudder. “You would—you haven’t seen it all until you see your father walking around the apartment with the dangly bits loose.”

 

“Yeah—no. That’s eww.” James screwed up his face in disgust. “Brain bleach, please?”

 

“I wish. I’ve seen a lot, but nothing prepares you for seeing your dad in that state of undress, and I’m a surgeon.”  Nellie said, now laughing.

 

It was the first time she’d laughed in a week. She could feel the tension and stress oozing slowly out of her as she did so. This had to be a positive thing. She reached up on her tiptoes, arms snaking around his neck, as she stood en-pointe to kiss him. She pulled away quickly, realising she still wore blood-soaked scrubs, the drell blood drying quickly into dark purple stains next to the dark blue stains of the Executor’s.

 

“Sorry. I’m totally disgusting, all covered in blood and everything,” Nellie apologised. “Let’s go home…”

 

They caught a sky cab to the Silversun Strip, and Nellie swiped her credit chit to pay. She felt very tired, and leaned heavily on James’s arm as they navigated the seething mass of people who still ignored the horror of the war.

 

“Out here, they’re so disconnected from the war. It could be the battle of the Somme and their world wouldn’t even be disrupted in the slightest. It’s all about Dad’s newest play,” Nellie couldn’t keep the bitterness and contempt out of her voice.  The Silversun strip seethed with an attitude that bothered her, and it made her feel as though all the work she did in the temporary civilian housing mattered very little to those who lived in this part of the Citadel.

 

“Enough talk about the war, Sawbones,” James said, and Nellie glanced up at him. “I’m gonna run you a bath, so you can strip out of those wet and blood-stained clothes.”

 

“Sounds good,” Nellie said, as she swiped her access card. She pushed open the door to her apartment, dropping her keycard and lanyard in the silver dish on the hall table. Peeling her blood-soaked top off, she headed to the laundry. James followed her in, and headed straight for the bathroom.

 

When Nellie slid into the hot bath five minutes later, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest. She could hear James in the kitchen, rummaging around in the pantry for something to eat. There truly was nothing sexier than a man who could cook, and right now, exhaustion reigned supreme. The heat of the water, combined with her exhaustion, made her eyes droop, and she succumbed to the temptation to doze.

 

“Nellie?” James’s voice sounded very close to her ear, and she felt his arms lift her from the bath. He wrapped her in a towel, cocooning her in the soft grey fabric and carrying her into the bedroom. With infinite gentleness, James dressed her in a nightie,  and settled her on the bed.

 

“You made food. Won’t it be ruined?” Nellie asked, as James shrugged.

 

“Nah. It reheats well. I can bring you a bowl, though. If you’re not too tired?” James said, and turned to go.

 

“That’d be lovely, thanks,” Nellie replied, and leaned back against the cushioned headrest of her large and comfortable bed. She used her biotics to lift a small lap-desk to the bed, and set it in front of her.

 

James arrived back in her bedroom a few minutes later, two bowls of cheat’s carbonara. The smell of the bacon and garlic wafting up from the bowls made her realise how hungry she was. With the hostile takeover of the Citadel, and then the hours she’d spent watching Thane’s surgery, she realised she probably hadn’t eaten for hours.

 

“I haven’t eaten since breakfast,” she said. “No time, when you’re under attack, as you’d know. Smells delicious.”

 

“Aren’t biotics meant to constantly eat? Lola’s always eating,” James observed.

 

“Some of us manage it better than others. Because I’m not in combat for most of the day, it doesn’t matter as much. Rose, on the other hand, _is_ always throwing herself into combat, and like Kaid, needs the constant nourishment,” Nellie said.

 

“Huh, I never knew that,” James said, as they finished eating and James took both bowls back to the kitchen.

 

She heard him start the dishwasher, and smiled, nestling down into her nice warm bed, her head resting against the soft pillows.

 

“Thanks,” she murmured sleepily. She felt him climb into bed next to her a few moments later, and felt his arms wrap around her, cradling her, making her feel safe and warm as they drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Lena for betaing my smut. I greatly appreciate it, darlin'.


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